


Making a Monster

by Sorkrath



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Rocky Horror Show - O'Brien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6756991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorkrath/pseuds/Sorkrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is born cruel and power-hungry. Monsters must be created. What made Frank 'N' Furter into the person he is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly just writing this for fun to explore some Rocky Horror headcanons I have. Not sure if/ how long I'll continue this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.
> 
> EDIT: Changed/ corrected a couple things

Frank stood in front of the large mirror in his room and spun around, admiring himself. He wore a black, iridescent dress, which he had found in his mother’s wardrobe. The garment shimmered like a serpent’s scales, reflecting the silver rays of moonlight that streamed in through the window. Frank was only thirteen, so the dress was somewhat ill-fitting on his small frame, but he couldn’t care less. Dressing up was one of the few things that brought him true joy. On his rare days off from working in his father’s laboratory, he would often spend hours trying on outfits and makeup. Of course, this was his well-kept secret. In public, he rarely wore anything more daring than a plain suit, and to go out in a dress was entirely unthinkable. Still, that only made these brief moments of freedom all the more tantalizing.

After another glance, Frank turned his attention away from the mirror. Laid out on top of his dresser was an array of makeup, also pilfered from his mother. He selected a particularly ornate-looking container of charcoal eye shadow and applied it delicately. A thick coat of mascara followed, accentuating his already dark lashes. Finally, some eyeliner and blood red lipstick completed the look. In makeup and a dress, he was nearly unrecognizable. His entire posture shifted and there was something magnetic and enchanting about him that had been entirely absent before. His eyes seemed to practically glow with newfound confidence, like a butterfly bursting forth from its cocoon. An ecstatic grin spread over his usually serious face. He felt absolutely beautiful. But, perhaps more than anything, he felt powerful. It was an intoxicating, foreign feeling, and he loved it.  
These thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the front door being unlocked. Frank’s heart skipped a beat and all of his earlier bravado vanished. He wasn’t expecting anyone and his father shouldn’t have been back from the laboratory for several hours. Frank darted to his dresser and hurriedly shoved the pile of makeup into a drawer. The sound of heavy boots entering the house quickly confirmed that his father, the great Dr. Furter, had indeed returned early.  


“Frank!” Dr. Furter called, “Come downstairs and assist me with something.”  


The boy didn’t respond at first. He hastily grabbed a towel from his closet and made a rather unsuccessful attempt to wipe his face clean.  


“Frank!” Dr. Furter called again, more than a hint of impatience in his voice.  


“One moment, father!” Frank replied, desperately searching for something he could put on to cover the dress.  


But it was too late. He could already hear footsteps coming up the stairs and then down the hall. In what seemed like an instant, the door to his room swung open and there stood his father. Frank froze, paralyzed by a sickening combination of terror and shame. Dr. Furter cast an imposing figure in the doorway. He wore a long, black lab coat with matching gloves and a pair of green-tinted goggles around his neck. His jet-black hair dramatically framed his pale face, and his eyes were piercing. Father and son stared at each other, neither sure of what to make of the strange situation they found themselves in. This did not last long, however, as Dr. Furter strode into the room and grabbed Frank roughly by the arm.  


“What are you doing in that absurd outfit?” he spat between gritted teeth.  


“N-nothing. It’s just a game. Just for fun.” Frank stuttered, trying to pull away.  


“You are an embarrassment.” Dr. Furter’s voice was now dangerously quiet. “And to think that I raised you. I have never been so humiliated in my life.”  


Frank attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. He felt the sting of tears welling up in his eyes. A wave of panic overtook him. He managed to free his arm and duck past his father, taking off down the hall. But Dr. Furter was close behind. Frank didn’t even make it to the stairs before his father caught him again, pinning him against the wall. Frank’s heart was racing now and he had the desperate look of a cornered animal.  


“Go back to your room and change, immediately,” Dr. Furter hissed, “While I decide what to do with you.”  


“No. Leave me alone.” Frank’s voice wavered, his whole body trembling with fear.  


“What did you say?” Dr. Furter's tone was cold and measured, concealing his growing rage.  


“Leave me alone!”  


With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Frank drew back his fist and swung at his father, striking him squarely on the jaw. Dr. Furter stumbled backwards, dazed, but quickly regained his composure. Without a word, he advanced towards the boy, seizing him by the throat. Frank struggled frantically but was powerless.  


“Please, no. Stop! I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Frank pleaded, tears now streaming down his face.  


He continued to beg hysterically, but his cries fell on deaf ears. In one violent motion, Dr. Furter tightened his grip and slammed Frank’s head against the wall with a sickening thud. The boy collapsed in a heap on the floor. He tried to get up but his limbs felt impossibly heavy and his head throbbed as though it had been split in two. He reached his hand to the back of his scalp and it came away wet with blood. He could feel the color drain fro his face. The edges of his vision grew dark as he slowly stopped struggling and lay still. Using the last of his remaining strength, he turned his head towards his father, a look of utter betrayal on his tear-stained face. Then, everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. Like I said, I'm not sure how long I plan to continue this, and if I do it may jump around chronologically a bit. Anyways, hope you enjoy. As always, feedback is appreciated.

Slowly, the room came back into focus. Vague shapes and patches of light penetrated the darkness and slowly solidified. Frank grimaced and blinked his eyes groggily. A searing pain emanated from the back of his skull and the whole room seemed hazy. He lay perfectly still. The cold, stone floor felt soothing against his face. Soon, Frank’s mind began to clear and he struggled to sit up. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he almost fell back, but managed to steady himself. Once the dizziness passed, he gingerly rose to his feet, supporting himself against the wall. He scanned the hall and listened carefully for any sign of his father, but fortunately the house was silent. Frank’s first instinct was to seize this opportunity and run. Just leave this miserable house and never look back. However, he quickly banished the foolish thought. He had absolutely nowhere to go and, regardless, he wouldn’t make it far in the condition he was in. 

Half walking, half stumbling, Frank made his way back to his room. He closed the door behind him and almost immediately sank to the floor, battered and exhausted. The whole house was eerily quiet and the silence seemed to engulf Frank, leaving him with a profound feeling of emptiness and loneliness. He hugged his knees to his chest, as if trying to hold himself together, and began to weep. His makeup ran, forming ugly, black rivers down his cheeks. Eventually, the tears stopped and he was left feeling completely numb. It was as if all the emotion had drained from his body and left behind a hollow shell. Time passed, although it was impossible to say how much. It could have been minutes or hours. Frank clung to the notion that if he stayed perfectly still, everything that had happened would go away and this would all reveal itself to be a terrible dream. But he did not wake up.

At last, Frank slowly gathered his thoughts and faced the reality of the situation. He had to change and clean himself up before his father returned. Slightly less shaky on his feet now, he stood and looked himself over in the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was truly pathetic, and he recoiled in disgust. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, his makeup was muddy and smeared like the war paint of a defeated soldier, and his hair was matted with blood from the wound on the back of his head. This image, combined with the slightly oversized dress he still had on, would have been almost farcical were it not so pitiable. How had he ever thought he had looked beautiful? He was nothing but a freak. He pulled off the dress violently and let it fall to the ground. The night air chilled his exposed body, but it was a welcome distraction from his aching head. He picked up the towel from where he had left it on his dresser and wiped his face, doing a more thorough job this time. Then, he put on a long, gray robe from his closet and wandered over to to his bed. 

Here, he stopped for a moment, as if contemplating something. Making up his mind, he knelt down and reached under the mattress, between the metal slats of the bed frame. From this hiding place came a small wooden box with the word “Morphia” engraved on it in silver lettering. Undoing the clasp, he opened the box carefully, revealing a syringe and needle along with several small vials. He lifted one of the vials to the light and checked for imperfections. Satisfied, he pierced the metal cap of the vial with the syringe and drew back the plunger, watching as the syringe filled with the swirling blue liquid. The morphine promised him relief. It would let him forget. It would let him rest. He pinched the skin on his arm and skillfully injected the drug, wincing slightly as the needle hit its mark. Now all there was to do was wait. He put the box away and climbed into bed. The morphine slowly began to take hold. He slept in restless fits and starts. Strange images and bits of vivid dreams flickered before his eyes. Soon, a calming warmth began to spread throughout his body, enveloping him. His mind stopped racing and he surrendered himself to sleep.

Abruptly, Frank was awoken by a knock at the door. At first, his foggy mind didn’t register the sound. He must have been asleep for quite some time, for the effects of the morphine were already beginning to wear off. There was another knock, louder this time. He quickly came to his senses, tossing the covers off and standing up.

“Come in.” Frank’s voice sounded weak.

He knew who was on the other side of the door and he miserably awaited his fate. Sure enough, his father entered the room. Frank could feel any remaining color drain from his face. He wanted nothing more than to flee, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

“What do you want?” Frank asked in the steadiest, coldest tone he could manage.

“Sit down.” Dr. Furter’s voice was strangely calm, “You probably have a concussion. You shouldn’t be up.”

Frank was taken aback by this sudden change in demeanor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyeing his father warily. 

“Perhaps I overreacted earlier.” Dr. Furter paused, considering his next words, “But I do not think you realize the severity of what you did. If someone found out-if someone else had seen you-they would say you were sick. You could be taken away, or worse. Do you understand me?”

There was genuine concern in his voice, and that frightened Frank more than his anger did.

“From now on,” Dr. Furter added, “You will spend more time in the laboratory working with me. Clearly I can not leave you to your own devices.”

Frank nodded, his eyes downcast.

“Now, get some rest.” Dr. Furter turned and began to leave the room.

“Am I sick?” Frank called after his father. His voice wavered slightly, his eyes still glued to the floor. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Frank so badly wanted someone to comfort him. Someone to tell him he wasn’t broken. Dr. Furter hesitated. He was rarely at a loss for words, but now, looking at the pitiful boy sitting before him, he found he had no idea what to say. His face was as still as a photograph. Finally, he sighed and turned back towards the door, leaving without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this chapter. As usual, reviews and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Furter was true to his word, and for the next months Frank spent the majority of his waking hours working in the laboratory and was seldom left alone. The laboratory was an enormous, ominous looking building that was part of a larger military complex. The lab provided research and new weapons for the massive Transylvanian army. As the laboratory’s director, Dr. Furter was practically royalty. The galaxy seemed to be constantly involved in some war or invasion, and good scientists were indispensable.

Frank threw himself into the work. He had always been gifted, and had enjoyed participating in his father’s various experiments since he could hold a scalpel. But now, Frank truly applied himself. The lab kept his mind occupied, and he needed the distraction. Dr. Furter had not directly mentioned the incident with the dress since it happened, and Frank was certainly not going to bring it up, but it still nagged at the back of the boy’s mind. Frank’s work allowed little time for his thoughts to wander, and so he was able to ignore his feelings and push the whole incident away, at least for the time being.

One particular day, Frank walked methodically down one of the lab’s many long, narrow corridors. On either side of him the walls were lined, almost from floor to ceiling, with cages and tanks of various sizes. They were filled with all manner of strange animals. The din in the room was nearly unbearable. Many of the poor creatures were clearly in agony from the experiments they had been subjected to. Some were afflicted with grotesque tumors or missing limbs while others were hooked up to electrodes and IV drips. It was the smell that bothered Frank most of all. The scent of chemicals and cleaning fluid mingled with the odor of fur, filth and disease. Even the surgical mask covering his face did little to stop the stench. 

Near the end of the hall, Frank approached a small cage with several furry, rodent-like creatures huddled inside. He unlocked the cage and reached in, grabbing hold of one of the animals by the nape of its neck. It struggled in his gloved hand, its pale fur shimmering like quicksilver as it squirmed. Reaching into his pocket, Frank removed a small syringe. The small creature gnashed its sharp, yellow teeth, but Frank did not waver and deftly injected the creature between its shoulder blades. The animal let out an agonized screech and its eyes rolled back in its head. Then, almost immediately, its body went limp in Frank’s hand.

Frank nonchalantly walked towards the door at the end of the hall, the dead creature still in his hand. If he had any misgivings about what he had just done, his expression did not show it. When he had first started assisting at the lab, as a child, he was enchanted by all the strange animals there and could hardly bear to look when his father euthanized them for his experiments. But now, Frank almost enjoyed it. There was a strangely addictive sense of power that came with having control over the life and death of another living being.

Frank approached the door and rummaged around in his coat pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door and it opened with an ominous creak. Inside was the main laboratory. An electrical buzz permeated the air and the room itself was crammed with strange machines and shelves of test tubes and bottles. Several smaller cabinets held skeletons and preserved specimens of various animals. In the center was a large worktable, carefully organized with various surgical implements. Also on the table was a small glass tank filled with a swirling, multicolored liquid. Dr. Furter was on the far side of the room, grabbing several bottles from a shelf. He was clearly expecting Frank and addressed the boy without turning towards him.

“Put it on the table.” The doctor’s voice was somewhat muffled by the surgical mask he wore.

Frank obeyed, setting the dead creature next to the tank. Dr. Furter approached the animal and inspected it for a moment, before finally looking at Frank.

“Good.” He said, “Now, turn on the generator.”

Frank nodded. He pulled a lever on one of the many machines in the room and connected several large cables from the machine to the tank. Almost instantly, the liquid in the tank began bubbling and smoking. Dr. Furter added a few drops to the mixture from one of the jars, and the bubbling subsided slightly. Then, the doctor lifted up the dead creature almost ceremoniously with a pair of forceps and held it above the tank.

“Are you ready?” Dr. Furter’s eyes were alight with a combination of madness and excitement.

“Yes, father. I merely await your word.”

Frank stood by the generator, his hand resting on the control panel. Dr. Furter lowered the creature into the tank with the utmost care and precision. At first, nothing seemed to happen. But soon, the liquid began to foam and bubble more aggressively, threatening to spill over the sides of the container.

“Step up the reactor power input one more point.” Dr. Furter ordered, his eyes glued to the tank.

Frank turned a dial and the electric static in the air grew louder. Then, something unbelievable happened: the creature began to move. It was almost imperceptible at first. Just a twitch. But then its eyes opened and it struggled to swim to the surface of the tank. Frank gazed in astonishment at the scene before him. This experiment had never worked so well before. Dr. Furter had managed to achieve limited reanimation in the past, but the subjects had never seemed to fully regain consciousness and only stayed alive very briefly. This was altogether different. Dr. Furter was clearly ecstatic. In fact, Frank couldn’t remember ever seeing his father so animated or happy. The doctor lifted the animal out of the tank and set it loose on the table. It stumbled about, dazed. However, its frantic movements soon slowed and its breathing became shallow and irregular. Both Frank and his father looked on with a sort of morbid fascination as the creature wheezed and gasped for air with increasing futility. It’s condition deteriorated rapidly and a viscous mixture of saliva and blood began to trickle from its mouth. Finally, it collapsed.

Frank glanced at his father cautiously. The doctor rarely took failure well, and Frank was never eager to be on the receiving end of his father’s temper. Fortunately, the doctor did not seem particularly upset. In fact, Dr. Furter had not anticipated the test going nearly as well as it had.

“Well, we will try again tomorrow.” He simply said, picking the corpse up off the table and depositing it into a small biohazard bag.“

“I’ll put it in the incinerator.” Frank took the bag from his father.

“Thank you. That will be all for today. I’ll meet you at home; I still have more work to do.”

Frank exited the laboratory and made his way through several winding halls halls and large storage rooms. Finally, he reached the back door of the building and stepped outside. The moonlight was refreshing after the harsh, bright interior of the lab. The back of the building was essentially a junkyard, with a long row of garbage containers and a huge incinerator. The entire place was littered with broken or outdated lab equipment and other scraps. He tossed the bag into the incinerator and was turning to leave when he heard rustling from behind one of the garbage bins.

“Who’s there?” he called, moving towards the noise.

The rustling stopped and Frank heard quick footsteps. Without thinking, he ran after the mysterious intruder.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here. Thank you to the people who have reviewed! They're always appreciated.

Frank chased the source of the noise through the junkyard. Then, without warning, a figure darted out from behind one of the bins and froze like a deer caught in headlights. The figure was a boy, smaller than Frank. He had unkempt, bleach-blond hair and looked malnourished. The boy wore an old, worn out coat that didn’t quite fit him – in fact, all of his clothes looked like hand-me-downs. His eyes darted around the yard in a panic, looking for a way out. The tall fence that encircled the yard was lined with spikes and the only exit was the gate behind Frank. A look of determination came over the intruder’s face and he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a strange device and aiming it at Frank. Instinctively, Frank jumped back.

“No, wait. Stop!” Frank implored. He tried to keep calm, backing up slowly with his arms held in front of him.

The intruder advanced. Frank got a better look at the device in the boy’s hands. It was a crudely welded together contraption with three metal prongs at the front and a jumble of mismatched wires sticking out the side. A slightly amused expression spread across Frank’s face and he stopped backing up.

“Is that supposed to be some sort of laser?” he asked.

The other boy did not respond.

“It’s actually rather impressive for something made out of scraps.” Frank continued, “But it’s clearly broken.”

Frank was no stranger to weapons, working on a military complex, and even from a distance he could tell the wiring on the gun was old and faulty. The other boy slowly lowered the laser, defeated, but kept his gaze fixed on Frank.

“I know it’s broken.” said the intruder bitterly. “I was looking for parts to fix it.”

“We’ll, you’re lucky I found you. Anyone else would have shot you on sight for trespassing here.”

If Frank expected gratitude, he did not receive it. The other boy simply continued to eye him suspiciously.

“Who are you, anyways?” Frank asked.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Frank replied, “Considering you just threatened to shoot me with a laser.”

The intruder sighed and put the gun back in his jacket pocket.

“Fine. If you must know, my name is Riff Raff.” The boy said, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.”

Riff Raff began to walk towards the gate, but Frank stopped him.

“Why such a rush? You didn’t even get what you came here for.” Frank said with a smirk, “You know, if I were you, I would check that old machine over by the incinerator. It should have the wiring you need.”

And with that, Frank turned to leave. Riff Raff was bewildered.

“Why are you helping me?” he called after Frank.

“You look like you could use it.” Frank said with a shrug, barely looking back.

In reality, he wasn’t entirely certain why he had decided to help Riff Raff. Maybe he did it as his own private act of rebellion - his father would be furious if he found out Frank was helping a thief. Maybe it was because Frank pitied Riff Raff - the boy looked like he hadn’t heard a kind word in his entire life. Or maybe, just maybe, Frank saw some of himself in the other boy. The same sadness. The same determination. But Frank did not dwell on any of this now. He merely walked home.

The next day proved uneventful. Frank helped rewrite and adjust the formula for his father’s experiment, which was dull, tedious work. At the end of his work, as usual, Frank went to throw out the garbage – just paper scraps this time, no dead animals. Frank was heading back inside when a voice called out to him.

“Hello!”

Frank spun around and saw, much to his surprise, that Riff Raff was waiting on the other side of the fence.

“What are you doing back here again?” Frank asked, walking towards where the other boy stood.

“Well, I took the wires like you said, but I still can’t get the laser working again.” Riff Raff said, “You seem to know about this type of thing, so…do you think you could show me how to fix it?”

Frank raised an eyebrow, looking at Riff Raff dubiously.

“Please,” Riff Raff quickly added, seeing Frank’s hesitation, “I don’t really have anyone else I could ask.”  
“Well, I suppose I could take a look at it. But who taught you how to make weapons? Couldn’t you ask them?”

“I learned everything from books at the library.” Riff Raff explained.

Frank was still skeptical. This whole situation seemed like a rabbit hole he shouldn’t go down. Besides, Frank didn’t need another secret to keep from his father. And yet, there was something decidedly intriguing about Riff Raff, and fixing a laser was simple enough, wasn’t it? In the end, Frank’s curiosity won out.

“Alright, I will fix it. But I can’t do it today. My father is expecting me home soon. Meet me at this same time tomorrow in the alley across from the lab.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Riff Raff’s normally sullen face became animated.

“Don’t mention it. Now shoo, before someone sees you here.”

“Wait, before I go, what’s your name?”

“Ah, how rude of me. Please, call me Frank.”

The next day was a blur. It took everything for Frank to keep focused, as he was so preoccupied with thinking about his meeting. There was something illicit and exciting about meeting a near-total stranger in secret. Fortunately, as Frank suspected, he and his father ran the experiment again that day (unsuccessfully), and so the doctor had to stay late writing a lab report, leaving Frank alone for at least a couple of hours.

Sure enough, he found Riff Raff in the alleyway, right on time. Frank brought a few tools he was able to sneak out of the lab, and the two of them quickly set to work on the gun. Frank showed Riff Raff how to properly strip and connect the wires, and they replaced all the old, broken parts with new ones. Soon, they had the laser functioning again. It was remarkable how well it worked considering the junk it was crafted from. It probably wasn’t lethal, but it could certainly incapacitate someone. The two boys set up bottles and cans and took turns shooting at them, making the targets explode in a shower of red sparks. Soon, they grew tired of this game and just sat and talked. They didn’t speak about anything particularly important or personal – both boys were somewhat guarded when it came to their personal lives – but it was still pleasant conversation. Frank couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed. They talked and laughed until, after what seemed like too short a time, Frank had to leave. They made plans to meet again and then parted ways.

Over the following weeks, they met as often as they could. They created all sorts of small gadgets and inventions together, and it was often the only part of the day that Frank looked forward to. As Frank headed home one day a thought suddenly dawned on him: for the first time, he had someone he could consider a friend.


End file.
